Sleep was still forcefully tugging at Allison, and she looked longingly at the bed she had just made up. After such a long drive in the previous days, she knew that she could have slept for hours longer, well into the late afternoon before stirring even just a little. The thought of walking anywhere, even for good reason, was daunting, and the young doctor was not looking forward to it at all. She found herself wishing that her car would magically start, and the GPS would glow back to life and point her, without a doubt, in the direction of the city and to the doorstep of her new apartment. Unfortunately, wishes didn't get Allison anything but disappointment, and she resigned herself to this hike.

At the very least, Torsten was there to keep her company, and his lively personality prompted her to wake a little more. “I slept well,” she answered him, laughing softly at the joke he made. She was glad to see that he had made it through the night without incident, and supposed now was the time to stop feeling guilty for displacing him. “Your bed is very comfortable.” Modest as it was, the mattress beat out anything the motels had to offer along the way from Boston.

The amount of weapons that Torsten had stored in the cabin was a bit surprising, but Allison was somehow comforted by his preparedness. Guns, although she had no idea how to use one, did not bother her the way they did others and they seemed necessary in this instance if the two of them didn't want to become dinner for some wandering grizzly.

Alone in the cabin once again, crossed the room to the shower and quickly stripped herself of her clothes. The thought of starting a fire in order to have hot water was too much work at such an hour, and although she was incredibly efficient when it came to her career, Allison was lazy in almost all other areas of her life. Unlike her mother, a fantastic mother and wife, Allison hated to clean anything, hardly ever made her bed and would sooner eat off of paper plates than set herself up for having to do dishes. Cold water would suffice just fine, and the shocking temperature was sure to finally wake her enough for the hike to the Amish settlement.

The shower was a quick one, just enough to get clean and wake up. Allison stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel, shivering slightly from how cold the water had been. She made sure not to get her hair wet, knowing that she would be unable to dry it, and in the cold, morning air, it would only make her uncomfortable. Drying off, Allison slipped her clothes back on, unhappy that she wouldn't be able to change, but that mattered very little when she would be walking through the woods all day, and then to Portland later on. Besides, the sweater was warm and Allison was happy to have something to trap her body heat.

After hanging the towel up to dry, the doctor slid her shoes back on and stepped outside to meet Torsten. It was still a little dark, but the sun was starting to rise and the sky was a beautiful mix of deep violet and pale blue. It mixed wonderfully with the green trees all around, their tops barely kissed by the coming morning; what a beautiful day.

“Torsten?” she called, looking around for the Finn as she pulled her hair back into a haphazard ponytail. “I'm ready to go. I hope you didn't get eaten by a bear,” she added with a playful laugh.

Two suns were rising in the morning, one to the east and one to the west. The amber glow from the city of Portland simply couldn’t be ignored. In the pre-dawn light, it eclipsed the violet and the blue upon the eastern horizon. It would be a beautiful day; full of sunshine and mild warmth. The mountain passes would be free of mud and snow, but there was that unknown – that light coming from the city. Torsten wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening.

There was a small shack next to the cabin. In it, he kept the things he did not like. It contained articles of gear and clothing he had used in another life. Documents and things. While she was taking her shower, he was making sure that he was efficient for the day. Possible bags were great when out tracking for bear, but they were not adequate if a fight broke out. He had been able to keep much of his equipment from his days in the army, except for the obvious things – like his rifle. The Finnish Jaegers had kept the philosophy of ‘light is right’ when he had been in. When the rest of the world’s armies had converted themselves to fancy tactical vests and modular pouches, the Finnish Special Forces relied on the basic gear of the 1970s. Belts, suspenders and pouches. Steel plates and fancy vests weighed too much.

The belt and pouches were great. A buttpack on the rear of the belt gave him just enough storage to bring cheese, jerky and smoked sausage on the trip with them. Enough food for two days. He had plenty of paper cartridges for the Sharps rifle he carried, with plenty of loose powder, ball and primer caps for the revolvers. He felt adequate for the day.

There was one last important thing to grab. In a dusty cigar box next to a window that was accumulating cobwebs, were things he did not want to take. He picked the box up, opening the top of it. Within it lay official documentation. On top was an ID card. It was his NATO identification card. Major Stålhandske, Finnish Army, Utti Jaeger Regiment. Though Finland was not formally apart of the alliance, it still had sent troops to fight in Afghanistan and took an observer status in Brussels. The card, and paperwork underneath it, was tucked into the pocket of his flannel shirt.

The Finnish Army had been reluctant to let him go. Rather than lose him overseas, the General Staff had opted to continue to pay him under a ‘reserve’ program. It allowed him to keep his rank and pay, but the ability to live abroad as he pleased. Torsten was now wishing he was back in Finland, fulfilling his purpose. He stepped out of the shack, locking it behind him around the time that Allison had walked out with her jibe about bears.

“Oh, a few came by,” he replied jovially enough from the lightening darkness. “I punched them straight in nose. They go away.”

He motioned for her to follow him, “It is dark, so please be careful. We do not need broken ankle this morning.” He led her away from the cabin and the main road. They walked into the wilderness for a few moments, before he abruptly turned directions. He was now following the main road down the mountain, but at a few hundred yards distance. As the morning sun rose, he could see the faint outline of the road in the distance, but anyone on the road would be hard-pressed to see them in the woods.

Every few moments the tall Finn would turn to walk backwards. He eyed the trees, looking past the shadows that would play tricks on frightened men. Upon one such odd event, he smiled at Allison. “Ten miles to the Amish. Then.. forty miles? Forty miles to Portland.”

The extra color in the sky meant little to Allison, and perhaps if she were more familiar with military tactics or environmental cues, she would have realized that something was wrong. Her background was in medicine, though and knowledge of broken bones or ruptured organs gave little insight or concern to the goings on of the city that stood in the shadow of the mountains. It was more than likely a good thing that the young doctor wasn't aware of what was going on—just one more thing to be frightened of, and she was already worried about walking through the woods that were apparently filled with bears. Plus, there was the looming worry in the pit of her stomach that she would never make it to Portland.

Torsten's joke made her laugh, although it was a mixture of surprise when she noticed all that he was carrying. Perhaps she was underestimating just how long this trip would take, and she certainly was unprepared in comparison. All she had was her clothes from the day before, and flimsy shoes that were perfect for driving in, but horrible for a hike. This wasn't going to be fun, and not even the company was going to make the long walk more enjoyable; tolerable, but not pleasant.

“I think I'll be fine,” she assured the Finn as she followed him into the woods. The terrain wasn't even, but Allison still managed to keep up. She followed along, not faltering when Torsten turned sharply and moved them in a different direction. The change had been abrupt, and the dark-haired woman protested wordlessly with a huff. She didn't feel that she had a reason to complain when Torsten was continuing to be so generous with her. What person would offer to walk her all the way down to Portland after taking her in, cooking her dinner, and giving up their bed? Torsten was a good person, and Allison appreciated him even if she already hated walking through the woods.

Every so often, Allison noticed Torsten would turn around to face her and walk backwards. She didn't know what he was looking for, but it was making her anxious. When Torsten would turn around to continue leading the hike, and keep them on a path, Allison would glance over her shoulder. The only thing she was met with was darkness, thick trees that blocked her view from where she had just been. In the chilly, morning air, her sweater did little to prevent the chill that went up her spine.

“Whoa, forty miles?” she asked, having grossly underestimated the distance. “That's...a lot.” Allison was unsure if she could even walk the ten miles to the Amish settlement, let alone another forty. That was bound to take all day, and possibly all night as well. Frowning, she continued on with him, quelling whatever complaints rose to the surface. “Can we at least walk on the road?” she asked, nearly losing her footing on a dip in the terrain.

The Finn’s breath frosted in the early morning chill. Twigs and dry leaves crunched underfoot, as he led their small parade through the Washington forest into Oregon. Though Allison had her doubts, they had already gone over two miles within the woods by the time she had inquired about travelling on the road. Torsten stopped, frowning down at the barren road.

To be true, there was nobody on it. What was he so concerned about? He looked from the road to the amber glow on the horizon that was growing dimmer with the rising sun. The trees and the curvature of the earth kept the smoke roiling up into the atmosphere from view. It was perhaps for the best. The Finn doubted that Allison would be able to keep up the march if she knew only destruction waited them in Portland.

He paused before answering. He wasn’t quite sure how to answer the question. For once that early morning, he decided to be honest. He could hide some of the truth from her, but he couldn’t hide all of it. “If something… bad… has happened in Portland, it is best we avoid the road. It is dangerous? Vaara. If bad people are on the road, we can see them, but they cannot see us. Keep you safe.”

He continued on, before pausing again. “Army habit,” he decided to explain further, before proceeding onward. They walked for only a few more hours, with Torsten stopping every time that Allison stumbled. He patiently held her hand to assist her through the rough bits, where tree stumps and cracked rocks stuck up within the deer trail that they were following. The trail, as the name would suggest, was created by deer as they traveled from their dens in the woods to the fertile corn and bean fields the Amish tended.

The sun had crested fully over the horizon when the woods begin to thin and they were able to see the expansive fields before them. The Amish were in the middle of planting, having already plowed their fields with massive Clydesdales pulling even bigger plows. Less than fifty families lived in the church work. Though each man owned his own plot, the work was shared communally amongst each other. A ringing bell could bring help from one house to the next if a complicated task needed done. Though Torsten was “English” to them, they respected him – and he respected them.

The arrival on the field caused a distinct change in Torsten. Gone were the occasional jibes and jokes. He paused, holding his hand out to stop her from passing in front of him. Houses were arrayed in front of them, with field and lawns empty of the hard-working men or women. Red flags were being risen in the Finn’s mind. He took a knee, motioning for Allison to follow behind him.

“There’s no people working the fields,” he said more to himself. “ Mitähelvettiä on tekeillä?” He hissed.

The eagle-eyed Finn’s head did a full circle around them, taking in every shadow within the woods, the windows or the darkened entrances of the barns they were able to see. Very little things could stop the Amish from working. One of them was Church, and since it was not a Sunday that was not going to happen, and the other was disaster – or barn raising. He knew for a fact that no new barns were being risen, at least for the next few months.

“There is something wrong,” he explained hurriedly to Allison, “I do not know what. We need to see why there is no people. I will go ahead. When I turn and wave you on, you run, okay?” He reached a hand out, giving her’s a reassuring squeeze, “You are in no danger. I keep you safe.”

The road was visible every few yards where gaps between the many trees gave way to a small stretch of empty pavement. Allison didn't understand why Torsten wouldn't want to walk alongside that, rather than slowly make their way through the forest. The doctor wasn't cut out for this type of environment, and knowing that forty more miles lay ahead of them was daunting when she realized that she herself was the reason they were moving so slowly. Her running shoes offered little sturdiness on the uneven forest floor, where dips in the landscape were covered by fallen branches and other bits of natural debris. In the short time they had been walking, Allison had already grown envious of Torsten's strides, confident and easy while she stumbled along behind him.

For the life of her, Allison couldn't imagine what could have happened in Portland. As far as she knew, the city was safe and peaceful, just waiting for her to arrive. Although she thought it would have been faster, Allison didn't think that she was in much of a position to complain since Torsten was continuing to be so generous with her. Had the roles been reversed, she highly doubted that she would have personally walked some stranger into the city. Besides, continuing the hike was a guaranteed way not to worry herself half to death over what could be happening below the mountain, or rather, who they were keeping their distance from.

The next few hours were slow, but the pair made progress and soon, the woods began to thin out. Allison didn't know what she was looking for, and she thought the sights of the open fields and small town in the distance seemed quaint. Truthfully, the dark-haired woman was looking forward to a break from walking, her feet already somewhat sore from her improper shoes and her legs hadn't been worked this hard in years. Before she could mention taking an extended break, Torsten had his hand out, and a serious expression on his face that caused Allison to worry at her lower lip. He had been laughing and joking for the majority of their hike and the sudden change in attitude was cause for much concern.

“Maybe they're resting,” she proposed, not understanding that the Amish weren't the type to take a break. “Or--” Allison stopped herself, listening to Torsten's frenzied warning. “Wait, what? Run where? What's wrong?” She didn't know where she was supposed to go, or who she was running from. Everything seemed normal enough, and she wondered if the Finn's time in the army had made him unnecessarily paranoid.

Looking to the settlement in the distance and back to Torsten, Allison shook her head. “I'm not going anywhere by myself,” she decided, “I'll go with you and you'll see that everything is fine.” It would have sounded convincing if not for her own apprehension and tendency to trust this man who was merely a stranger the day before.

The battlefield was not the place for the single soldier. Though television and Hollywood liked to portray individual super-soldiers wading chest-deep through hordes of archetypical communists and terrorists, the real world was hardly so forgiving. Unit tactics and cohesion won battle. Not individuals with panache for shooting. Torsten thumbed back the heavy hammer on the Sharps. He had, to be truthful, not necessarily prepared for this eventuality. He had figured the city was too far from the Amish community for them to be harassed this early.

Though the growing afternoon was chilly, the Finn was already sweating. How many years had it been since he felt this stress? He licked his lips, half-listening to Allison while his head worked to look all around them. He tried to smile at the woman, “I’m sure everything is okay, but we must assume it is not. Yes? Yes. Please, just sit here for a moment. Do you see that barn?” He asked her, pointing to the one directly ahead of them. Its broadside was towards them. “Once I’m there, I will wave you towards me. We will move into the village from that barn. No problems.”

He did not exactly believe what he said. His eyes turned to the sky. Fire could have driven the Amish to a farm they couldn’t see, but no columns of smoke rose up into the blue skies.

Torsten stood, wasting no time to sprint out of the woods. For such a large man, he was a capable sprinter. He held his rifle in his right hand, making a beeline for the barn. Feet from it, he dropped, so that he slid the rest of the way, kicking up dirt and dust around him. Just as quickly as he was there, he was peering around the edge of the rifle down a neat row of farmhouses in the distance. After making quite sure that the position was safe, he waved Allison on.

He turned, so that he was facing Allison as she began her trek across the field. That’s when a blood-curdling scream pierced the countryside. It continued on for what seemed like an eternity, wailing higher and higher, until stopping into a gurgling sob. Torsten was already scrambling out from beside the barn. He could see nothing from his position – the narrow dirt lane that wound down the center of the village was empty.

Until a woman came bursting out of the church eight hundred yards away. One would have to have the eyes of a hawk in order to see her. She wore what appeared to be a red dress, stumbling down the stairs of the holy building, while turning to look at three men who came out of the double-doors behind her.

They were obviously not Amish. They wore orange jump suits, though it was difficult to tell from the distance. She was running from the men, who were happy to simply stroll after her. Nobody from within the town raised a finger to help her. Doors and windows were barred.

Torsten took a knee next to the barn. It was raised slightly upon a hill from the rest of the town, which bowed into a valley. The church itself sat higher up on a hill much like the barn. ” Pelkureita. Vitun pelkurit,” Torsten hissed. He rested his left elbow upon his knee, while his left hand stabilized the barrel of the heavy rifle. He rested the butt of his rifle against his shoulder, peering down the rear Creedmoor sight.

In spite of what Torsten was saying about their being no danger, Allison didn't believe him. She was very much on edge, wondering what could possibly be wrong and who, rather than what, had put a stop to their innocent hike. For some reason, she highly doubted that it was a bear, and didn't think that Torsten would be forcing a smile if a grizzly was just wandering their way through the forest. This was something different, something sinister if he felt the need to keep her safe. This time, Allison wasn't going to argue with him, and she didn't feel the need to try and change the Finn's mind when it was clearly already made up. She had no choice but to trust him, and go with whatever he instructed.

“Be careful,” Allison asked of him. The field was large, stretching far enough off into the distance to make the barn look small. The only indication that a structure was actually there was the typical, red paint on the outside of it. For Torsten, someone who was an experienced soldier, running across a potentially dangerous, open area more than likely want a big deal. Allison was no soldier, and her anxiety was high.

Hidden by the trees and brush at the edge of the woods, Allison stood as still as possible as she watched Torsten cross the field. It was effortless for him, and she could tell that he was in his element, whether he wanted to be or not. The young doctor worried at her lip as the Finn became smaller and put more distance between them. She could still see him, and didn't miss his signal for her to come over. Inwardly, she told herself that Torsten wouldn't let her get hurt, and she pushed herself to step out of the cover of the forest.

Jogging across the field, she was halfway there and the reservations she had about this Amish community were starting to ease. Unfortunately, her thinking was premature as a loud, desperate scream pierced through the quiet, sereneness of the settlement. Allison stopped in her tracks, stopping to frantically look around for the woman who had made the noise to begin with, but she couldn't see anything. She looked toward Torsten, seeing him scramble around in the distance and took no comfort in the fact that he was as caught off guard as she was.

Allison sprinted toward Torsten, paying no mind to her aching feet as she crossed the rest of the field in record time. She caught up to the Finn, slightly breathless as she finally caught sigh of the scene below the hill. Three men were chasing a woman, and her dress was either red or covered in blood. There wasn't much that Allison actually knew about the Amish, but if they were anything like the other simple cultures back east, red wasn't a God-approved color. “We have to help her,” she gasped, no longer afraid, but thinking critically instead. This was her element, the very thing she had studied for and she wasn't going to turn away from a person in need just because of the danger that could possibly be involved.

“They'll kill her if we don't,” she pointed out, already starting down the hill. It was foolish, but Allison wasn't going to let the woman die.

This was the Finn’s calling. The woman was still a few hundred yards away, sprinting towards the barn where the two were. Her smaller stature made the three men behind her, who had not yet noticed the Finn, easier to see. His eyes momentarily glanced up towards the sky and treeline. The breeze was coming in light from the east. He spat in acknowledgement to Allison’s worries that the men would kill her.

“They would,” he replied calmly, before dropping down on one knee next to the barn. He raised the rifle to his shoulder just as she ran down the hill to meet the woman. Her acts didn’t seem to hurry Torsten. What came next had to be done slowly. Purposefully. A sniper didn’t win his battles by being quick – he won them by being the calmest person on the battlefield. The large Finn brought the heavy Sharps rifle to his shoulder, peering through the rear ladder sight. He pointed the barrel upwards, allowing for the howitzer-like properties of the .45-110 bullet sitting ahead of the powder within the receiver. He let out a half breath, pulling the set trigger – before pulling the main.

The rifle exploded in an eruption of flame and blackpowder smoke. The bullet flew in a high arc, like a rainbow, before careening back towards the ground. It was made of pure lead, with enough force behind it to kill a full-grown water buffalo. The first man it impacted wouldn’t even know what hit him. He was a hulking man, with a bald head and tattoos across his face. Those tattoos disappeared in a fine, red mist. He was running when the heavy projectile hit him, throwing him backwards.

The falling of the man in front of them, followed by the eventual report of the rifle, caused the other two to stop. They looked up to see the powder smoke that had taken their fellow and the woman running down after them.

“I’ll kill you for that!” One of the two men, mustachioed and brawny, cried up at the hill. He and his friend began to sprint, just as soon as the rifle erupted again. They never saw who was shooting them – the blackpowder smoke kept Torsten from view. The mustachioed man fell next, his chest bursting open to expose a set of finely broken ribs. The third man, deciding that he had most certainly had enough, opted to turn and sprint towards the wood line. He was gone by the time Torsten had reloaded.

The woman they had chased had collapsed. Her brown hair was greasy with sweat, which intermingled with the blood that oozed from her chest. The three men, evidently escaped convicts, had performed a cruel mastectomy on the woman. Even in the best of circumstances at the best of hospitals she would likely die from the blood loss. Torsten watched from the hill, before slowly walking down the slope to join Allison.

When she had left from Boston in the days before, Allison had never anticipated being in this type of situation. Ideally, she should have already been in Portland, getting used to her new apartment, exploring the neighborhood and preparing for her first day at the hospital. Instead, she was on this demented hike where things had quickly gone from bad to worse in less than five minutes. In a strange calmness that overcame her, Allison suddenly realized that Torsten knew something she didn't, that the danger he spoke of wasn't an unlikely scenario, it was actually happening, and he had kept the truth from her. Logically, she doubted that the woods of the Cascades were always populated with more than just bears and she was furious that he hadn't bothered to clue her in on anything.

Currently, there was no time to argue about it, and Allison was unsure if she Torsten would even make it out of the field alive. The men that were advancing toward them, large and hulking with tattoos and menacing looks on their prison-hardened faces, looked determined to capture the poor woman who was running away—what was to say they wouldn't be excited to torture two more people?

She started down the hill, with or without the Finn in tow and ignored the sore ache of her feet as she rushed toward the running woman, closing some of the distance between them. A loud explosion erupted behind her, and Allison didn't have time to look back, but the opposing group was down a convict, his head no longer attached to his body. There was a red mist settling on top of the grass, and yet another convict had taken up a full sprint toward them, but was now aiming for Torsten. She hoped he had enough bullets to handle them all. Now, she was running as well, needing to reach the unnamed Amish woman before anyone else had a chance to grab her again. Her run was slowing, she didn't look good.

Then, another one of the men was put down, his chest blown apart by another one of Torsten's bullets. The last one had a bit of sense about him, and took off toward the tree line, not wanting to get shot. Allison didn't care where he went, as long as he wasn't coming after the Amish woman anymore. She had just reached her after collapsing, and Allison knelt down beside her, horrified and disgusted by what the prisoners had done. It was sadistic and cruel and Allison already knew that she couldn't save her. Even at the best hospitals, with the best doctors, she had already lost too much blood and the field provided nothing, even for the sake of stabilization.

“You're safe now,” Allison told her, brushing back her sweaty, brown hair from her face. She was pretty, innocent-looking and more than likely had lived her life the same way. “They're not going to hurt you anymore.”

All the woman could do was cry and gasp, mumbling of the pain and all of the blood. Allison reached down and tore a sizable amount of cloth from the hem of the woman's dress, which had originally been a soft, blue color. Gently, but quickly, she wrapped the fabric around the woman's chest, making sure that it was tight. It wouldn't stop the bleeding, nothing would, but it would be slowed some and hopefully make her a little more comfortable. Allison's hands were stained with blood, but the woman reached for her anyway, seeking comfort and there was a lump in her throat that was hard to swallow when Allison could only imagine what kind of torture this woman had endured.

“What's your name?” she asked softly, squeezing the woman's hand in her own.

Her breathing was shallow, and the look in her soft, brown eyes looked far away. “Mary,” she said. “Mary.”
Mary licked her lips, dry from the running and heavy breathing. “They came into the church. I was praying...”

Allison felt her eyes brim with tears, and she knew that if anyone from med school could see her now, they would probably be judging her. No doctor was ever supposed to make an emotional connection with a patient, but this was different. They were out in a field and this woman had done nothing to have such horrors inflicted upon her. “I'm sorry, Mary,” was all Allison could say. “I'm sorry.”

Behind her, Allison could hear Torsten approaching, and Mary was beginning to slip away. Her eyes fluttered closed, her breathing became more shallow and rapid and the blood loss was finally catching up to her. Allison continued to hold her hand, wanting to be some sort of comfort and safety for this woman in her final moments. It was hard to tell if this was appreciated, or if Mary even knew what was happening, but it wasn't long before she took her last breath and her hand went limp in Allison's grasp. She checked her pulse, foolishly, knowing that there would be nothing there.

“She's gone,” she told Torsten, gently crossing Mary's arms over her chest. She looked peaceful that way, almost as if she were asleep. Allison wiped her eyes on her sleeve, stifling the urge to break down and cry in the wake of such horror and emotional trauma.

“You didn't get all of them, did you?”

“And you will not ‘get’ any more of them!” A voice boomed from beside them. An elderly Amish man was shuffling towards them, wearing plain trousers and a light blue shirt. His face was silhouetted by a greying beard and a straw hat. Though he was old and slow, he walked with a dutiful purpose. His face was beset by anger, though his next words made it difficult to tell exactly what he was upset the most about. Torsten or the dead woman on the ground. “Your English ways are not our ways,” he huffed.

Torsten shot a glance at Allison, motioning for her to back away from the dead woman. ”Het spijt me,” He replied in Pennsylvania Dutch. He opened the breach to his rifle, removing the paper cartridge in order to make it inert. Though he did not like it, it was their community. Their rules. Granted, it wasn’t like he was going to let them know that his pistols were loaded. “I was worried they’d come after someone else next,” he tried to explain.

The Amish man held a shaking, wrinkled hand up to his face. He blinked away tears, turning his head away from the corpse. “That is not your place to decide. Vengeance is God’s. Not our’s..” He paused for a moment. A low sigh escaped his lips, “I wish these men had not been here. I wish you had not done this Torsten, but this is as God has commanded. It is our lot to understand it. Stay… stay here. I’ll get women to bring her to the church.”

Neither Allison or Torsten would be able to touch the body. The Finn stepped towards her, cradling the rifle in his arms. “Swartzentruber Amish. That was Samuel Stolfutz. Their elder. They won’t raise a finger to defend themselves or others. Don’t correct them about it, either. They don’t like that. Don’t look at the young men. Don’t try to talk to the women; their husbands won’t like that. … Granted, I think Samuel is the only one who actually likes me.” His eyebrows furrowed slightly.

A small group of women came following behind Samuel. Tears streamed down their faces, as a horse and cart were fetched from one of the barns. The body was loaded upon the cart and brought trundling along to the white church not far off. Samuel wrung his hands nervously, talking to a small group of men who were of his senior, before they walked away shaking heads. More than one angry glance was directed towards the tall Finn.

Samuel finally strolled back towards the two, “It has been a bad morning. Why are you here with this woman, Herr Torsten?”

‘This woman.’ The Finn glanced towards Allison. That wouldn’t go over well. “Power is out everywhere. Cars do not run. Where is.. where is the county deputy?” Torsten asked. A county deputy was usually on patrol around the community. The deputy kept the kids from messing with the Amish – or worse.

Samuel glowered, “Deputy Moreno was here. His car broke down outside the church. He had breakfast with my family, before he was supposed to go back to his policemen to see what was happening. That’s when those men showed up. They are prisoners, ja? Deputy Moreno told them to stop. He tried to use his gun. It didn’t work. They killed him. Mary… Mary came out to plead for them to stop.”

Allison jumped, her muscles visibly stiffening when a shout came in their direction. An old man was making his way toward herself and Torsten, looking typically Amish and very disgruntled. The young doctor had never taken any pains to understand the Amish and most of what she knew about the came from TV, or people that she knew from Pennsylvania who told her stories of how backwards and simple they were. That sort of life, with no accommodations and no pleasures wasn't for her, but she didn't appreciate being yelled at when she was only trying to help poor Mary feel more comfortable in her final moments.

Backing away from the lifeless woman, Allison stood and brushed off her jeans. The grass stains were muddled by the blood on her hands and the dark-haired woman swallowed hard, feeling as though she was going to be sick. She stood by Torsten's side, listening as the men talked. It was annoying not to be acknowledged. She watched as the man walked off, intending to fetch the women in order to move Mary into a more dignified space. Her eyes were on Torsten, though, and Allison found herself frowning as he explained the Amish customs.

“They're content to let people die?” she questioned, outraged. There wasn't much time to say anything else, as Samuel was coming back with the women, who were crying. Knowing that she couldn't talk to them was difficult, not even to offer a polite word of apology when it was she who had been with Mary in her last moments, Allison who felt the woman slip away from life. Beside her, Torsten and Samuel were speaking, but Allison was too distracted with the horse-drawn cart that was now fading off into the distance. However, she did catch Samuel's words about her, and turned toward the pair with an indignant look in her eyes.

It was obvious that she wasn't respected there, or even appreciated for attempting to save one of their own. The sadness she felt for the situation could be stowed and dwelled on later, now, Allison was just angry. She found her arms crossing on their own and she couldn't help but glower in Samuel's direction as she bit her tongue. Starting an argument, causing a scene, that wouldn't go over well and Torsten was clearly a bit of a regular around the community, she didn't want to burn his bridges.

“Poor Mary that no one came out to stop them from hurting her,” Allison said flatly. “Poor Mary that this woman, a stranger, was the only one to lift a finger.” So much for trying to stay neutral. She turned Torsten, now very much intent on ignoring Samuel. “Can we go? I want to keep moving and it's obviously not safe here.”

It mattered very little that her feet were sore, or that there could be killers moving through the woods, she simply wished to leave. At that moment, striking out on her own and getting mauled by a bear or skinned alive would have been preferred to staying in the Amish community and taking whatever disrespect came her way. At the very least, there might have been a gun around from the fallen deputy, and that would have offered some protection; never mind that she didn't know how to use it.

Torsten visually cringed at Allison’s reply to the old man. There was very little he could do to referee. He was, by his very nature, always on thin ice with the local Amish. If it had been another branch, it likely would have been another matter altogether. Not the Swartzentruber. They likely considered the death of the two prisoners by Torsten’s hand as grave a crime as Mary’s death. The unfamiliarity of the cruel men’s faces was the only thing lessening the blow towards the two at the time.

Samuel screwed his face into a scowl towards Allison, “It is not Amish that did this. The Godless English came here. Not the other way around!”

Torsten stepped forward, moving between the two. He rose a hand up, trying to keep the man calm. Like it or not, Torsten figured that they needed him. It was the only reason why they came. “Samuel, I’m sorry for the mess that I made. I am not a God’s man. I did not know what else to do. Please, we came here to get her boots from your store. We’re making our way to Portland. She’s a doctor. She has to go do her job.”

Samuel leered over Torsten’s shoulder at Allison. His scowl was still present, though he finally nodded assent. He glanced down at her feet, “I will be a few minutes. Rest by the barn. We will attend to the bodies,” he motioned to the two dead convicts whose blood had turned the grass and dirt into a red morass. He turned, disappearing once again down the dirt road.

The Finn let out a breath of relaxation. He turned to face Allison, reaching out with his free hand to grab one of her’s. He held it, “You are a great doctor. You were wonderful. I’m sorry he treated you in that way, but we are at his home. Their way is their way. Do not be too harsh on them… I believe he’s scared.” He turned his head to look at where the Amish man had shuffled towards. “He would like to believe God is on his side, but his way of life cannot exist without peace. He is worried that peace is gone, I think.”

He let go of Allison’s hand. “I am glad you are here.”

Normally, Allison had the sense to keep her composure and not make a situation worse than it should have been, but the way that Samuel was looking at her made Allison want to hit him. She was no stranger to defending herself, and although she doubted that the Amish coward would do anything more than glare at her, she was still prepared and ready to act. The oath to do no harm didn't count when it came to someone like this, a man who had the nerve to act as though she and Torsten were just as horrible as those men who had tortured and killed Mary. God had very little to do with any of this the young doctor thought Samuel was a hypocrite for even insisting that he and the others had been helpless to do anything. Allison may not have been able to save Mary, but at least she had tried.

“You and your God” Allison began, glaring back at the man when Torsten stepped between them. Having the Finn there was the best thing about the situation, because the things she could have said didn't need to be heard by anyone, no matter how angry she was. Her shoulders slumped and she relaxed some, but continued to exchange scowls with Samuel.

Thankfully, the man left, agreeing to get her some hiking boots from the store. Secretly, she appreciated his courtesy, but doubted she would be able to thank him for it. The way Allison saw it, this would make them even and Samuel already thought she was a godless person, so her manners (or lack there of) should have been expected. She shook her head and leaned up against the barn, watching as Samuel made his way back up the road.

Now that he was gone, Allison started to relax, but was surprised all over again when Torsten took her hand. They were still stained with Mary's blood, sticky-feeling and dirty, but he didn't seem to mind. She smiled softly at his words and gave his hand a squeeze in return, her own feeling small and safe clasped in his. “I'm glad you're here too,” she said, now crossing her arms over her chest for some sort of comfort. “What you did back there, you saved us and I don't care what that guy says, you did what needed to be done.”

She cared very little for Samuel's peace being disrupted. Her own had been disturbed as well, but she supposed empathy didn't exist within the Amish community. Allison was very worried about the next part of their hike—if the criminals would be following them, what they would encounter on their way to Portland, and distantly, whether or not there was still a Portland to get to. The brunette would be able to calm down when all of this was over, when she was back in her element at the hospital and doing her job.

Brushing her hair back from her face, Allison looked to Torsten. “We should take the deputy's gun,” she suggested, not understanding that it might not work, just as cars and everything else seemed to have failed within the last twenty-four hours. “I want to be ready, just in case.”

"I know," the Finn replied to her. "These people just have different ways of viewing things. We must still do good, whether people like it or not," he told her. He didn't care if Samuel couldn't let his appreciation known. Deep down, Torsten was sure that the man did appreciate it. Society would always appreciate men like Torsten -- people who stood up and fought for those who did not. However, that did not necessarily mean that society was going to go out of its way to show their appreciate or even have the ability to do so.

Torsten nodded his head, though there was a little apprehension, "I am not so good with semi-automatic pistols or new rifles," he lied. To tell the truth, there were few better in the entire Finnish Army. Even in competition, when the Finns were invited, against NATO he performed well above his peers. The army, for what it was worth, had turned him into a killing machine. The tall Finn simply did not wish to admit to that, though. If he didn't have to touch these weapons -- he could keep living the lie that he was just like everyone else. When Allison looked away, he peered down at her for some time. He was responsible for her. He had accepted that responsibility. If the deputy had a semi-automatic pistol -- or even a rifle -- it would help level the playing field to his advantage.

So distracted was he, that he didn't notice Samuel's return. The old Amish man was leading two horses. They were both saddled and loaded with bread, cheese and canteens of water. Both of them were American quarter horses. Big horses that were able to carry a large burden. Most importantly, however, they were sure of foot. They wouldn't lose their footing or grow stressed in the Cascades. Torsten looked up with a start. Samuel handed the reigns to Torsten, before handing a pair of old, well-worn leather boots to Allison. They looked as though they had already seen hundreds of miles -- and were ready to see hundreds more. He frowned, "These should fit you."

Torsten reached a hand out, patting one of the horses on its wet nose, "Thank you, Samuel. I'll bring them back once I drop her off.." He motioned towards Allison. He was shocked the Amish man would give him horses. They were the life-blood of the Amish. Without them, they couldn't plow their fields or harvest in an economical fashion. Torsten knew these were Samuel's personal livestock. Even if the old man couldn't say 'thank you', he knew this gesture was what that meant. "I'm sorry to have to ask... where's the deputy? He would have had a gun on him. I'd like to take it with us, to protect her.." He motioned to Allison.

Samuel sighed. He motioned with his hand towards his house, "Some of the men put him in my barn. We pushed his automobile in there, too. You're welcome to it. If you do find his people.. tell them we buried him.." Samuel turned to walk away, before he paused. He turned his head, looking at Allison and then to Torsten. "You two be careful around them English." He sauntered away.

Even though Torsten claimed not to be good with modern weaponry, Allison suspected that it would come naturally to him. He had been so sure with the rifle before, not flinching as those men had run toward them, and his skill with that alone made her feel even more safe. She wasn't sure of what was going on in the world, but she knew that Torsten would protect her the same as he had done the night before. When this was all over, if Allison made it to her apartment in Portland, she would have to think of some way to thank him for going above and beyond the normal level of hospitality for a complete stranger. The doctor wasn't sure how she would actually do that, but she had the rest of the day to think about it—after all, the next part of the hike was going to take longer than the beginning.

A comfortable silence fell between she and Torsten, but Allison didn't mind. She was still attempting to calm herself, to beat back her emotions in order to continue on with the rest of the day. It seemed unfair that she wasn't even considered a real doctor yet, and had already lost her first patient. Allison supposed that was just the way things went sometimes and she would have to brace herself for more deaths if she was going to continue on this path in life. For now, she could focus on getting herself to Portland in piece.

When Samuel returned, Allison was surprised to see two horses in tow. They were big, much bigger than any other horses she had seen in her life. Their size was slightly intimidating, but they seemed gentle with Torsten. “Thank you,” she said to Samuel, unable to hold onto her anger when this gesture had been so grand. Although she doubted that she had misjudged this man, he clearly wasn't all bad. As Samuel and Torsten talked, Allison leaned against the barn after toeing off her running shoes. The leather hiking boots fit nicely, and were sure to keep her feet warm as she and the Finn made their way down the mountain.

As Samuel left them, Allison turned back to Torsten and let her hand smooth over the strong neck of the horse. “I'll get the gun,” she said, giving the horse a few more sweet pets before turning to leave. Allison didn't actually know how to ride a horse, but she assumed it couldn't be that difficult. Besides, it was something that needed to be done, and she was ready to get going.

Jogging across the field toward Samuel's barn, Allison pushed open the heavy, weathered doors. They were well-maintained and opened without so much as a creak to reveal the deputy's cruiser and the body of the man, who was now covered with a cloth. The dark-haired woman made a quick sign of the cross. Although she wasn't religious, she was from Boston, and had spent a great deal of time in church. Upon seeing the dead, that was the respectful thing to do. Averting her eyes, Allison moved over to the car and opened the driver side door, looking around for anything that could be of use. She found a few snacks, a protein bar, and some extra ammunition in the glove box, but no gun. She didn't want to, but Allison was going to have to lift the cloth on the body.

Setting the gathered supplies on the hood, Allison approached the lifeless deputy and crouched down at his side, lifting the sheet just enough to expose his hip where the gun was still holstered. She removed it carefully and then thought to look for his wallet. Samuel had mentioned finding his people and if they were on the way, they could have some closure. She recovered the man gently and then carried the supplies back to Torsten.

“I found some things,” she called over to him, but handed off the gun as soon as she was close enough. “His wallet was there, I think we should tell his family.” She looked through it, seeing the man's ID card, and then flipped it over for Torsten to read. “Is that far?”

Samuel was happy to finally be gone of the two. It was true that he appreciated Torsten, but never before had the man gone so out of his way to disregard the laws of the Amish. He wanted them gone, lest he begin to think that the towering Scandinavian had done a good thing by killing those men. He exchanged a handshake with Torsten, watching him lead the two horses towards the barn after Allison. The old man frowned, narrowing eyebrows and raising a hand, “You and the woman watch out for them English.”

It was the best compliment he could have given. The only one he could have given. Torsten paused for a moment, before turning back around to meet Allison next to the barn. She was talking to him, but he wasn’t necessarily hearing the words that were coming out of her mouth. He stared at the pistol, accepting it and holding it in its hand. His brain tried to think of arbitrary technical data. The pistol was a .40 S&W Glock 17. Fourth Generation. He examined the weapon, drawing back on the slide to extract the chambered round that had failed to fire.

The primer was dimpled by the firing pin, but it had not fired. Without even thinking, he let the slide hammer back home, chambering a new round. He held it up, pointing it towards the woods and pulled the trigger. Another failure to fire. He tried it repeatedly, before emptying the magazine and charging a new one. Each round failed to fire – the firing pins dimpling, but refusing to ignite.

He was in another world, even with this new found information. Movies liked to tell of supermen knocking down waves of enemy combatants. Men who could kill without a blink of the eye. To tell the truth, only psychopaths were capable of this. Torsten was not a psychopath. Even though the men he had just killed had done terrible evil, his conscience was still waging a war against reason. He had always thought killing had been over after he had left Afghanistan. Sure, he retained a reserve commission, but that was only to keep his half-pay. His country never would have honestly called him back into service from the United States.

He tried to draw his mind away from the corpses. He picked up the failed cartridges from the ground, examining the rear of each primer. “Remington… Winchester… UMC. A failure to fire from one batch wouldn’t be abnormal, but the deputy was firing three different manufacturers from three different magazines. That..” He paused, “Is impossible.” He slipped the barrel of the pistol into the back of his belt. It was useless, but he would keep it. Maybe he could find some working ammunition?

“We need to go,” he told Allison rather flatly. He reached a hand out for her, motioning towards the horse. “I’ll help you get on it. Just let it do its own thing. It’ll follow mine on its own.”